


Map of the Problematique

by dracoqueen22



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Oblivious Characters are Oblivious, Whirl to the Rescue, courting gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cyclonus and Tailgate are different shades of clueless and it's up to Whirl to save the day. Primus help them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Map of the Problematique

**Author's Note:**

> Probably takes place post the Swearth issue but no spoilers. 
> 
> Giftfic for Lesnee.

Tailgate didn't care what Whirl said: rivet duty was not fun. He was not happy that Whirl got him involved in that prank because it upset Ultra Magnus who had turned around and given them both rivet duty. Sure, the view was spectacular, but the gun was heavy, and the work was tedious, and a whole shift of listening to Whirl tell wild stories was only interesting for the first couple of hours.   
  
After that, Tailgate just wanted to go back to berth or at least somewhere quiet to hide away for awhile. Or, even better, he wanted to be wherever Cyclonus was so that they could sit in silent contemplation together. Talking was over-rated anyway.   
  
Tailgate dragged his feet back to his shared quarters with Cyclonus and hoped his suite-partner would be there. He felt like he hadn't seen Cyclonus in a long time. He almost swore that Cyclonus was hiding from him, though he didn't know why. They hadn't argued, and they'd made up during that whole Brainstorm and time-travel incident.   
  
Though made-up was a strong word. Cyclonus apologized, Tailgate acknowledged it, and the matter was settled. For the most part.   
  
Maybe Cyclonus was still embarrassed?   
  
Tailgate didn't know. Cyclonus didn't talk much, and he especially didn't talk about his feelings or his thoughts. It was difficult to understand him sometimes. Plus, Tailgate didn't want to come across as annoying by demanding that Cyclonus open up to him. He wanted Cyclonus to want to tell him things.   
  
Tailgate perked up as he rounded the corner, and the door to their habsuite came into sight. Maybe Cyclonus would be here for once, and Tailgate could convince him to watch a movie or grab a drink at Swerve's. Tailgate was exhausted, but he could set that aside in favor of spending time with Cyclonus. He had priorities!  
  
He keyed in their code and eased inside, all prepared to greet his suite-mate cheerfully, only to be welcomed by the dim that indicated Cyclonus was either recharging, or not present. A quick sensor sweep was all the answer he needed: Cyclonus wasn't here. Disappointed, Tailgate flipped the lights to full and dragged his feet into the room.   
  
He stared longingly in the direction of Cyclonus' empty, neat berth before shifting his gaze to his own. Tailgate's visor brightened in surprise and a small squeak escaped him. He froze, internals shaking with delight.   
  
Was that a present!? For him?  
  
There was a box on his berth, wrapped with a shiny purple bow, and the tag hanging down from the ribbon had his name on it.  
  
Tailgate almost tripped over his feet in his haste to get to the gift. He climbed onto his berth and curled his legs, cradling the present in his lap. It wasn't heavy, and it rustled as he gave it a gentle shake. Excitement wound through his spark, and Tailgate carefully unraveled the bow. He lifted off the lid and peered inside.   
  
Half a dozen datatracks. How interesting!  
  
Tailgate pulled them out and skimmed the titles. Each was a collection of the best in entertainment from various eras of Cybertroninan history. They must have come from Rewind. He knew how much Tailgate craved knowledge of the Cybertron he'd missed.   
  
Tailgate's shoulders slumped with disappointment.   
  
He glanced again at the empty berth across the room. He wished it had come from Cyclonus instead.   
  
Two days later, another present appeared on his berth at another time when Cyclonus was gone when Tailgate arrived. He still hadn't seen his suite-partner except in passing, and Tailgate was growing more and more disappointed by it. Like the universe was conspiring to keep them apart!  
  
The gift was almost a balm, however. It was addressed to him and contained a whole box of his favorite flavor of energon sticks. He eagerly tore the package open and popped two into his intake, the taste of sweet and sour hitting his oral receptors. Tailgate wiggled with happiness and searched for a name, but found none.   
  
It wasn't Rewind; Tailgate had asked. He'd said the datatrack copies likely came from the library Rewind had set up in an empty room aboard the ship for the crew to use. So he didn't know who could have sent them.   
  
A likely candidate for the goodies was Rung, but Tailgate still doubted it. Rung wouldn't have hesitated to put his name on them.   
  
Two weeks went by.   
  
The gifts started showing up like clockwork, usually little things, just stuff to make him happy or to fill his empty display shelves. Tailgate didn't have much to his name before he came aboard the _Lost Light_ , and now his memories were growing in leaps and bounds. The shelves above his berth were getting cramped, but he was reluctant to toss away anything. Every item was a memory.   
  
The presents always came without a name, but they had the same color bow each time. Tailgate kept one of the boxes and stuffed every ribbon he received into it. He liked to pull out the box and count the ribbons while warmth bloomed in his spark. He couldn't stop the happy pulses in his spark.   
  
Tailgate wasn't an idiot. The clues started to click after awhile. There was only person who could always manage to slip him gifts as a nice surprise.   
  
They had to be from Cyclonus. And that thought sent another shiver of delight through Tailgate's spark.   
  
He managed to corner Cyclonus one day by getting off-shift early and catching Cyclonus before his suite-mate could leave for his own shift. Tailgate didn't know why they were suddenly working opposite from each other, but it was annoying. He didn't like it. He missed all the time they used to spend together.   
  
Maybe he should try talking to Ultra Magnus…   
  
Tailgate saved that thought for another time, because he couldn't stop his little bounce of happiness when he walked into their shared hab-suite and saw Cyclonus standing at the window. An excited squeak escaped him, and Cyclonus half-turned, his optics wide as though equally surprised to see Tailgate.   
  
“Cylonus!” Tailgate exclaimed, though he held back from rushing toward Cyclonus and giving him a crushing embrace. “So you do still live here.” He offered a little chuckle.   
  
Cyclonus cycled his optics and inclined his helm. “It would seem,” he said, his deep vocals purring right into Tailgate's audials. “Our opposing schedules had almost suggested otherwise.”   
  
Tailgate laughed. “Yeah. I noticed.” He joined Cyclonus at the window; he always wondered what it was Cyclonus was looking for out there. “Um. You're doing okay?”   
  
“I am fine. And you?”   
  
Tailgate shrugged. “Can't complain.” He tangled his fingers together, looking up the purple mech, his spark giving off that hopeful ache it always felt when he was around Cyclonus. “I found… I mean… thank you. For the gifts. I love them.”   
  
Cyclonus looked down at him and his field opened up, just a little, letting Tailgate get a taste of the affection in it. “You are welcome.”   
  
Hope bloomed. Tailgate gathered up his courage, cycled a ventilation, and decided to go for it.   
  
“So,” Tailgate said and when Cyclonus' tilted his helm to indicate he was listening, rushed to say, “It's Game Night at Swerve's. Want to come with me?”   
  
Cyclonus cycled his optics and his shoulders dropped a little. He opened his mouth and Tailgate was quick to add,  
  
“Or we could do something else,” he said and leaned closer to Cyclonus, getting another brief taste of the warrior's field. “I know it gets loud in there and that you don't like it when it does.”   
  
Cyclonus unfolded his arms and rested a hand on Tailgate's shoulder, and Tailgate did his best not to shake with happiness. “Thank you for the offer,” he said. “But I am afraid that I must decline. I have to be on shift shortly.”  
  
Tailgate couldn't hide the disappointment in his field. “Oh. Okay. I understand. We all have work to do, right?”   
  
He beamed up at Cyclonus and eased out from under Cyclonus' hand, though every part of him wanted to linger, maybe move closer, see if he could aim for an embrace.   
  
“Maybe some other time?”   
  
Something flickered across Cyclonus' face, but he retracted his hand and folded his arms again. “Yes. Another time.”   
  
Tailgate backed up a few paces, his spark aching. “All right. Um. I'll see you later?”   
  
“Of course.”   
  
Tailgate didn't flee the habsuite, but it was a close thing. Mingled emotions of disappointment and happiness made his thoughts a jumbled mess, and he didn't know what to do with them. He needed advice.   
  
He headed to Swerve's because he was sure that was where everyone would be, and he was right. Swerve was zipping around the packed bar, balancing a tray full of drinks when Tailgate walked in, but he could see Rewind and Chromedome in the corner. Tailgate watched them for a minute to make sure they weren't being all lovey-dovey again before deciding it was safe enough to approach.   
  
Seriously. He was glad they'd worked out their issues but there was only so much romantic cooing Tailgate could take before he had to go elsewhere. And no, Swerve, it wasn't all jealousy. Cyclonus wouldn't be that sickeningly sweet even if they were together. Harrumph.   
  
Tailgate eased his way through the crowd, past the group of mechs with tiny playing cards pinched in their fingers, and another group who were arguing some kind of game that involved buying and selling real estate, and a third group playing dominoes. Another cluster of mechs were playing a game involving a bunch of spiky looking metal bits and a bouncing ball. Nautica and Nightbeat were concentrating something fierce over a chessboard. There was a rousing game of Twister going on in the opposite corner, but Tailgate wasn't very good at that one.   
  
Whirl was an all time champ. It paid to be thin and spindly, Tailgate thought with a chuckle.   
  
Speaking of Whirl, there he was now, picking through the crowd on an intercepting course with Tailgate. His optic lit up with glee, and Tailgate braced himself. Whirl… had his good days and his bad days. Sometimes he was just fun and ridiculous. And sometimes his humor had an edge of cruelty to it that caused Tailgate to make up an excuse to take his leave. He hoped today was of the former flavor.   
  
“Legs!” Whirl shouted and then giggled.  
  
Well, that was a good sign.   
  
Tailgate braced himself and yep, there it was. A spindly embrace that lifted him clear off the floor before Whirl put him down again and them patted him on the head.   
  
“Glad you're here!”   
  
“Hi, Whirl,” Tailgate said, processor spinning. “Had a lot to drink yet?”   
  
Whirl crossed a pincer over his windshield. “Not a drop.”   
  
Right. That was a lie.  
  
Tailgate eased around him and kept heading toward Rewind's table. Advice, he needed it. He didn't expect Whirl to go away and wasn't surprised when Whirl followed along after him. It was kind of cute.   
  
“Why aren't you playing?” Tailgate asked.   
  
“Because I saw my favorite minibot?”   
  
“Swerve's going to be spark-broken.”  
  
Whirl scoffed. “Mouth ain't looked in my direction all night. He's still head over feet for a certain grouchy rule-abider who doesn't have an ounce of personality anywhere under his armor.”   
  
Tailgate squinted at him. “… What?”   
  
“Nevermind.” Whirl waved a hand and then shooed at Tailgate. “Where's your broody shadow, yeah?”   
  
Tailgate hunched his shoulders. “Busy.”   
  
“Sure, sure. I know how it is.”   
  
They arrived at Rewind and Chromedome's table, both of whom greeted Tailgate with welcome, so he didn't hesitate to slide in beside Rewind while Whirl hip-checked Chromedome over and made room for himself.   
  
“So,” Whirl said. “What's happening?”   
  
Chromedome leaned an elbow on the table, tipping his head against his hand. “There's a rumor we might make a stopover at the Cosmic Carnival.”  
  
Rewind laughed. “I don't think that's what Whirl's talking about.” He poked Tailgate in a shoulder tire. “I know you're not the best at field repression, but what gives with the whirlwind?”   
  
Tailgate groaned and let his head tip forward and bury his face in the table. It seemed like an appropriate response.   
  
“That looks like the Cyclonus blues.” Swerve's voice said as he appeared like magic. Tailgate looked up to see him setting four drinks at the table, including Whirl and Tailgate's favorite.   
  
That Swerve, he was the best.   
  
“Hey, Swerve,” Tailgate said. “How're you feeling?”   
  
Swerve grinned and winked. “Better than you, obviously. What's up?”   
  
“Love problems,” Whirl offered helpfully and dragged his engex closer, though all he did was fiddle with it. Come to think of it, Tailgate had never actually seen him consume it.   
  
“Let me guess,” Swerve drawled. “Still haven't worked up the courage to tell Cyclonus that your head over heels and falling down the stairs for him?”   
  
Laughter echoed around the table. Taiglate crossed his arms and glared as best he could. “It's not a matter of courage,” he argued. “It's about… confusion.”  
  
“Confusion,” Swerve repeated and shook his helm. “Whatever you say.” He tucked his tray under his arms. “I'll be back.”   
  
Tailgate watched him go and sighed. “He's been giving me gifts,” he said, turning his attention back to the other mechs at the table. “Just little ones but… that should mean something, right? Except that he still keeps his distance.”   
  
“Hmm,” Rewind said.   
  
“Cyclonus is all traditional and slag,” Whirl said and squinted his optic at Tailgate. “He's giving you stuff and you still aren't sure if he's interested?”   
  
Tailgate hunched his shoulders. “He's just so hot and cold!” he answered with a sound of exasperation that was absolutely not a wail. “They could mean anything!”   
  
“Or it could be simple and he's trying to tell you something without words?” Chromedome offered. “Maybe that he returns your pretty obvious feelings?”  
  
Tailgate sighed. “Or that he still feels guilty. What if it's all part of some apology?”   
  
“And what if it's because he's courting you?” Rewind suggested, one finger tapping his chin as though it had just occurred to him.   
  
Tailgate scoffed. “Then why doesn't he just say that?”   
  
“Because he's Cyclonus and that would involve talking,” Whirl said with a chortle. He nudged Tailgate's drink closer to him, the swirly straw bobbing cheerfully.   
  
Tailgate felt a little like banging his head against the table.   
  
Rewind shook his head. “I don't understand why you don't just talk to him and tell him how you feel and ask him how he feels?”   
  
Tailgate swung his gaze toward Rewind and stared at him. “I can't do that!” he said, aghast. “That's too… too...”   
  
“Direct?” Chromedome supplied.   
  
Tailgate buried his face in his hands. “And embarrassing.”   
  
“You know, there are dozens of other mechs on this ship,” Swerve said, abruptly returning as he was prone to do. Either Bluestreak had come in or he decided to take a break because he scooted in beside Tailgate and made room for himself. “You don't have to fixate on Cyclonus.”   
  
Tailgate moaned into his hands. “He's the one I like though.” He didn't mention how Cyclonus made his heart flutter or his systems heat. That was too much information.   
  
Rewind patted one of his hands sympathetically. “Maybe you just need to be patient? You have time now. And if you're not going to directly ask him, you'll have to wait for him to ask you.”   
  
“Unless he's not interested in me at all.” It was such a conundrum! Tailgate groaned and lowered his hands. “I just don't know what to do.”   
  
“More like you don't like any of the solutions we've given you,” Chromedome muttered, and Tailgate didn't know if he was supposed to hear it or not because Rewind hissed at him to be quiet and Chromedome shrugged and focused on his engex.   
  
Whirl slammed a pincer on the table and stood. “You know what, Legs,” he said. “I'm not going to listen to you whine anymore. We're gonna do something about this.”   
  
Tailgate cycled his visor. “What are you talking about?” He shrank backward in his seat and even Swerve cringed.   
  
“Never you mind.” Whirl waggled a pincer at him and hopped out of the booth. “I've got this all figured out. You just wait for my signal.”   
  
“Your signal?” It wasn't terror that hit Tailgate, but it was a near thing. “What signal? Whirl!”   
  
But the erratic ex-Wrecker was gone, vanished into the crowd. Tailgate half-swore he could hear Whirl cackling over the noise however.   
  
Oh, no.   
  
Tailgate looked at the rest of his tablemates. “What do you think he's planning?” he asked. But most importantly, “Should I be worried?”  
  
Swerve _laughed_. “Oh, wow,” he said and slid out of the booth. “I have so much work to do. I can't lounge around like this.”   
  
He left as quickly as Whirl had, or escaped rather. Well, at least he was laughing. The amusement in the field was almost worth it being at Tailgate's expense.   
  
_Almost_.   
  
Tailgate turned toward Rewind and Chromedome, but the latter was hiding behind his engex and Rewind's cameralight was on. Great. Whatever was going on, at least Tailgate could be assured he'd have a video copy of it.   
  
“I think we all know how impossible it is to stop Whirl when he gets an idea in his head,” Rewind said and he patted Tailgate's hand again. “But whatever it is, it can't be any worse than the stress you're putting yourself through now.”   
  
Chromedome's muffled laugh sounded pained.   
  
Tailgate's spark filled with dread, but beneath it all, was the tiniest edge of hope. Almost anything was worth a try right now.   
  
It was the almost, however, that kept him from celebrating.   
  
Too many drinks to count later, and several turns around the dance floor, all failed attempts to distract himself, Tailgate staggered back to the room he shared with Cyclonus. Skids had escorted him halfway, but Tailgate wasn't so overcharged that he couldn't find the rest of the way.   
  
He knew their shared suite would be empty when he arrived, but he couldn't hide his moment of disappointment at the dark room. Tailgate dragged himself to his berth, only to stop and stare. There was another present waiting for him.   
  
He almost melted then and there, even if it confused him. Lovely presents, but not so much as a confession. Could Cyclonus really be that shy?   
  
A quiet joy filled Tailgate's spark as he opened the present.   
  
It was enough to make him forget about Whirl's ominous plan.   
  
But the next morning, he onlined, groggy from both a restless recharge and the paintstripper that Swerve called engex. His internals quivered with upset. Tailgate rolled over with a groan, blindly reaching for the box of tame energon sticks that had been in his present last night.   
  
Cyclonus always seemed to have a second sense about these things.   
  
He startled when someone pressed said sticks into his hand. Tailgate lit up his visor to see Cyclonus handing them to him, a concerned look on his face.   
  
“Good morning,” he said mildly.  
  
Tailgate squeaked. “Morning. Did you just get off-shift?”   
  
“Yes, but I have time if you want to refuel together,” Cyclonus said as he straightened and Tailgate scrambled to sit up, though the rapid movement sent his processor spinning and his tank churning.   
  
Refuel? Together?   
  
“Yes!” Tailgate all but leapt out of the berth and then staggered as his gyros destabilized, and his legs refused to function. If not for Cyclonus reaching out to brace him, he might have crashed to the floor.   
  
“I mean...” Tailgate sucked in a ventilation and reset his equilibrium sensors, forcing the room to stop spinning. “Yes, I would like that.” His arm was very warm where Cyclonus gently held him.   
  
It took all Tailgate had not to throw himself at Cyclonus and into his arms.   
  
“I am glad to hear that.” Cyclonus let him go and sadly, Tailgate's legs held his own weight. “Do you need a moment to gather yourself?”   
  
Tailgate stretched for a moment, but honestly, just being near Cyclonus was enough to make the after-recharge aches go away. “Nope. Let's go!” He beamed up at his suite-mate and almost wriggled when Cyclonus offered him one of his half-smiles in return.   
  
He did not bounce with excitement, though it was a near thing. He preceded Cyclonus out of their shared suite and almost ran smack into Whirl, who for some reason was lurking outside their room. Tailgate didn't know how long he'd been there, or if it was just a coincidence, but it was suspect.   
  
“Morning, Whirl!” he greeted pleasantly anyway. “How are you-- urk!”   
  
His words cut off as Whirl slung an arm around him and turned him down the hall. “Tailgate, my darling!” he said in the sweetest voice that Tailgate had ever heard. “There you are. I've been waiting all morning for you to wake up.”   
  
“Um.” Tailgate tried to crane his neck, to look over his shoulder toward Cyclonus, but Whirl was having none of it. “What are you doing?”   
  
Whirl hugged him closer. “Shhh. Just go with it,” he whispered, well, Whirl's version of a whisper. Whether or not Cyclonus heard him, Tailgate didn't know. “This is the signal, Legs.”   
  
“But Cyclonus and I were about to--”  
  
“Come on!” Whirl said loudly. “I saved us a table and everything. I'm going to spoil you to your spark's content, Legs.”   
  
“But I'd rather go with Cyclonus!” Tailgate said, trying to ease out from under Whirl's arm, but there was more strength in those spindly limbs than he would have expected.   
  
Whirl tightened his hold. “If this is going to work, you can't. Geeze. Get with the plan, Tailgate. You want to get your answer or not?”   
  
Tailgate tangled his fingers together. “I do.”   
  
“Then play along.” Whirl paused and half-turned toward Cyclonus. “You don't mind if I borrow your roommate, do you, Cyclonus?”   
  
Tailgate peeked at him and found Cyclonus' expression unreadable. His field had closed itself off, too.   
  
“Tailgate's decisions are his own,” Cyclonus answered, though his optics narrowed toward Whirl. “It is up to him who he would rather spend his time with. I have no say in the matter.”   
  
Whirl laughed. “Excellent. You're welcome to come along, if you want. Every good couple needs a third wheel.”   
  
“No, thank you. It turns out, I'm in need of recharge.” Cyclonus dipped his helm in a polite bow. “Enjoy your morning and your energon. Tailgate, I will see you later.”   
  
He spun on a heel and vanished into their hab-suite with a click of the lock behind him. Tailgate stared at the empty space where he'd been, wringing his fingers together.   
  
“This isn't going to work!” he declared, aghast.   
  
Whirl cackled and let Tailgate go, though one pincer did try to nudge Tailgate toward the refueling center. “Yes, it is.”   
  
“He didn't even care,” Tailgate absolutely did not wail as he dragged his feet toward his morning rations, which he needed.   
  
Whirl snickered in a manner that Tailgate had learned to be wary of. “Oh, he cared. Trust me on that. Come on, Legs. Have I ever steered ya wrong before?”   
  
Oh, could he count the ways?   
  
“And I mean when it mattered,” Whirl said with a waggle of his pincer.   
  
Tailgate darkened his visor at Whirl. “Do you really want me to answer that?”  
  
“Look. Do you want the grumpy duo-corn or not?”   
  
Tailgate's spark surged. “I do!”   
  
“And are you just gonna walk up to him and say that?”   
  
He slumped. “No.”   
  
“Then we're gonna do it my way.” Whirl bobbed his head in the direction of the refueling station. “Now come on. We gotta get visible.”   
  
Tailgate sighed and followed along. He wondered if he was making a mistake. Or maybe he was just desperate. Because if agreeing to go along with Whirl's cockamamie scheme wasn't a last-ditch effort, Tailgate didn't know what was.   
  
And he learned, rather quickly, what Whirl's plan meant.   
  
It meant telling everybody within earshot that he and Whirl were 'dating.' Which was an outrage and a lie that no one could possibly believe and Tailgate tried to say as much, but Whirl waved him off. It didn't matter if no one believed him. What mattered was what Cyclonus thought about it.   
  
“But he hasn't even noticed that I'm spending less time with him, why would this matter?” Tailgate argued.   
  
“Because Cyclonus hates me,” Whirl said with a wriggle of one of his rotors. For some reason, he took pride in this. “And the feeling's mutual.”   
  
Tailgate stared at him. “Then why are you helping him?”   
  
Whirl scoffed and shoved another cup of mid-grade at him. “This ain't for his said,” he retorted. “Drink your energon.”   
  
Tailgate curled his hands around the cup, something continuing to nag at him. “I don't want to lie to him, Whirl,” Tailgate said with a sigh. “I don't want to lie to anyone.”   
  
Whirl shrugged. “Then don't. If he asks, tell him the truth.”   
  
Tailgate's thoughts spun. He thought he understood Whirl's plan. “Wait. What? I thought that was the point of this?”   
  
“No,” Whirl said, speaking slowly. “The point is to make Cyclonus realize that you are one sexy-aft little minibot.” He poked Tailgate in the shoulder-tire with the tip of his pincer. “One that other mechs might find enticing. And if Cyclonus doesn't get off his aft and make a bid, then he's going to miss his chance.”   
  
“What if it doesn't work though?” Tailgate demanded, his spark squeezing into a tiny ball of despair in the center of his chest.   
  
Whirl's helm bobbed. “That's the chance you take. But at least then you got an answer and can move on and stop mooning after him. Swerve's right, ya know. There are other mechs on this ship and other mechs in the universe.”   
  
“I don't want those mechs. I want Cyclonus.”   
  
Whirl leaned against the edge of the table. “Then you have some choices, Legs. You can tell him. You can keep on doing nothing. Or you can go along with this. It's up to you.”   
  
Whirl was right.   
  
Tailgate agreed to go along with him. Which meant acting flattered and cuddling up to Whirl occasionally and openly flirting with Whirl and other mechs. It meant him making something of a spectacle of himself and even though Cyclonus wasn't here to say it, news traveled fast on the _Lost Light_.   
  
Tailgate didn't know how long he would have to keep this up. He hoped Whirl knew what he was doing. He hoped it worked.   
  
That didn't stop him from feeling anxious every time he approached his shared hab-suite with Cyclonus. Their schedules were still opposing, which meant for the past three days, Tailgate hadn't seen him. The presents continued to show up on his berth with regularity, but of Cyclonus, Tailgate hadn't seen so much as a glimpse of purple plating.   
  
He was around. Swerve and Rewind and Skids and Rung had all seen him in various locations around the ship, both on and off shift.   
  
But the one time he had been present when Tailgate arrived, he'd been recharging and Tailgate refused to disturb him. So he sat on his berth, stared longingly in Cyclonus' direction, and imagined that he could fit in the empty place on the berth beside the other mech. Or even better, cuddled up under Cyclonus' arm.   
  
The next morning when Tailgate onlined, Cyclonus was already gone. He tried not to be disappointed.   
  
“Just keep it up,” Whirl encouraged with a dedication Tailgate wouldn't have expected of him. “It's working.”   
  
Tailgate didn't believe him. He dragged himself back to his suite after another day of shift-working and mech-flirting and noise, and decided to skip going to Swerve's for the night. He wasn't up to it.  
  
He opened the door, however, and Cyclonus was there, a wrapped gift in his hand and a startled look to his optics. The present tumbled from his fingers to Tailgate's berth and the brief whiff of his field hinted of embarrassment.   
  
“Welcome back,” he said as he stepped back from Tailgate's berth.   
  
Tailgate's spark thudded in his chassis. “Thanks! Are you, um, off-shift?” His gaze slid to the gift and back to Cyclonus, curiosity mingling with anticipation and both tugging at him.   
  
“I am. And my schedule is due to return to normal from now on,” Cyclonus said as he continued to hover there, his expression carefully controlled. “We won't miss each other so much.”   
  
Tailgate beamed. “I'm glad to hear that.” He resisted the urge to bounce on his feet, but decided that Whirl was right. He had to go for it. “Want to go do something? I mean, if you're too tired, I understand. But we hardly see each other anymore and it would just be nice if we could.”   
  
“I agree,” Cyclonus said with a tilt of his head. “Did you have anywhere specific in mind?”   
  
Tailgate bounced on the heels of his feet. “We could get some drinks and then go to the oil reservoir if you want?” Peace and quiet with just the two of them? Yes please! It sounded like a dream come true.   
  
“That would be nice,” Cyclonus said. “Would you like to go now?”   
  
Tailgate eyed the present on his berth, but he could always come back for that later. This was far more important. He would take being with Cyclonus over a gift from Cyclonus any day of the week.   
  
“Sure!” He giggled and barely refrained from dancing to the door. “Come on. Swerve's got some new blend that I think you'll like. It's more spicy than it is sweet.”   
  
“That does sound like something I'd enjoy,” Cyclonus agreed as they left their shared suite and started toward the popular bar. “Thank you, Tailgate. I know I've been absent of late. I appreciate you not taking it to spark.”   
  
Tailgate shrugged. “Someone has to be responsible around here, right?” Because their captain sure wasn't. Or co-captain. Whatever.   
  
Rodimus was fun and awesome, but compared to all the stories about Optimus Prime and serious-frown Megatron, he didn't really fit the image of a ship captain Tailgate had formed in his processor.   
  
“Yes, but--”  
  
“And I mean, it's not like I was alone,” Tailgate rushed to say, because he hoped to Primus this wasn't pity. He didn't want fragging pity. “I have friends, you know. So I wasn't bored or lonely or anything.”   
  
Cyclonus nodded. “Yes. I'm glad for that.” He paused, his gaze wandering away for a moment as though he was internally debating something. “Speaking of which, I have heard some rumors.”   
  
Tailgate stiffened and then let out a small laugh. “Those? Oh. Those are Whirl's idea of a joke.” He chuckled, hoping that his internal heating didn't show on his facemask or in his visor. “Don't take them seriously.”  
  
Cyclonus made a noncommittal noise. Tailgate wondered if Cyclonus believed him. He didn't get a chance to ask, however, as they arrived at Swerve's bar then and there was already an obnoxious amount of noise spilling from behind the door. Said noise smacked them in the face as they stepped inside and Tailgate winced.   
  
It was packed, more so than usual, and then he remembered that tonight was Karaoke Night. That explained the caterwauling coming from the speakers. Everyone loved karaoke night and the good-natured teasing it brought about. Even better when someone with actual talent got up there and serenaded them all.   
  
Tailgate turned to Cyclonus, about to ask him if he wanted to stay and maybe sing, when he heard his name being shouted over the din.   
  
He was in the midst of turning back around to find out who when something clamped down on his wrist and jerked. Tailgate yelped and stumbled as he found his arm in Whirl's grip and Whirl tugging him across the floor.   
  
“Whirl! What are you doing?” he demanded as he tried to pull himself free. They were leaving Cyclonus behind! Whirl was going to ruin everything!  
  
“Final stage!” the ex-Wrecker cackled. “Trust me. Just wait for it.”   
  
Tailgate nearly tripped over his own feet as he stumbled along after Whirl and found himself planted in the center of a group of mechs, his head spinning. Skids and Jackpot and Swerve were here, too, along with a couple of mechs whose names Tailgate couldn't remember.   
  
They were all laughing and chatting, and Tailgate tried to peer through them – sometimes, he hated being a minibot. But he couldn't see Cyclonus through their bulk. He prayed that Cyclonus didn't just opt to go back to their room. If he fought his way free, would Cyclonus be waiting for him?  
  
“Wow! Look at the time!” Jackpot suddenly blurted and tapped his audials. “I have to go!” he added and then scurried off, but not without a startled glance over his shoulder to something behind Tailgate.   
  
Jackpot leaving wasn't surprising but when Tailgate turned around, he realized why. Cyclonus was edging his way through the crowd, not difficult being as many mechs made room for him. His gaze found Tailgate's and held it.   
  
“Tailgate,” he said, with a small grimace to the noisy gathering. “May I have a word?”   
  
Tailgate's breath caught. He activated his vocalizer, prepared to blurt out his answer, but that was when Whirl swaggered forward, almost hip-checking Skids out of the way.   
  
“Wait your turn, Decepticon,” he said, louder than anyone else. His field bumped Tailgate's, something like pride in it. “You had your chance.”   
  
Cyclonus only spared him the briefest of glances before he returned his attention to Tailgate. He dropped to one knee within reach and offered a hand. Nestled in his palm was a small, wrapped box, the smallest of them yet.   
  
“Perhaps I wasn't clear,” Cyclonus said quietly, but loud enough that Tailgate could hear him. “I wish to court you, Tailgate, if you would do me the honor of accepting my offer.”   
  
Tailgate's entire being stalled. He knew there were others present. He felt the weight of their gazes. But it also felt like the world narrowed down to only him and Cyclonus, here in the middle of a sea of faces, Cyclonus' gaze searching his and his expression serious and imploring.   
  
His heart stuttered and pulsed. His ventilations caught.   
  
“Yes,” he whispered and then repeated again, louder and with great joy, “Yes, of course, yes!” He threw himself forward, threw his arms around Cyclonus' neck, and if he got any happier, he feared his spark would burst.   
  
He felt one of Cyclonus' arms wrap around him, a warm weight that both accepted and claimed.   
  
“Thank you,” Cyclonus murmured into his audial. “Do you mind if we go somewhere private to continue this conversation?”   
  
Tailgate leaned back to look into Cyclonus' face. “You can go anywhere you want,” he said with complete honest. “So long as you take me with you.”   
  
Something rippled over Cyclonus' expression. His fingers flexed against Tailgate's back and then he abruptly stood, sweeping Tailgate up into his arms. Wherever the tiny present had gone, Tailgate didn't know. It didn't matter. There was no better gift than this moment, right now.   
  
Tailgate clung to Cyclonus as he was hefted up off the floor, to the sound of cheering and clapping from the mechs around him. Embarrassed, Tailgate tucked his face against Cyclonus chestplate and held on tight as Cyclonus carried him out of Swerve's bar and hopefully, to the privacy of their hab-suite.   
  
They'd just reached the door when Whirl's comm pinged his suite.   
  
\--Good for you, Legs,-- he said, and that was it. No gloating. No pride. Just a congratulations.   
  
Tailgate owed him something big.   
  
But he would worry about that later. Because Cyclonus had asked to court him and Tailgate had said yes and now they were going somewhere private to be together and it hit Tailgate all over again.   
  
Cyclonus liked him. Cyclonus wanted to be with him. Cyclonus wanted the both of them to be together in a relationship.  
  
All that wishing and hoping hadn't been in vain.   
  
He'd been worried for nothing.   
  
Cyclonus wanted him.   
  
Tailgate couldn’t be happier.   
  


****


End file.
